My novel tires of me, I believe.
I briefly glanced at it yesterday (I do try to take Sundays off
whenever I can) and the manuscript sighed at me. “Not this again,” I swore I
could hear it grumble. “Not more of your fingering at me.
Either finish me off
or be done with me.”
When The Hushing Days turned into a peevish, malcontent lover I do not
know.
Could someone please spin a yarn of romance around me and my dear
novel. I do believe we both need a little help in finding our happily ever
after.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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